Choices
by Helen Pattskyn
Summary: AU, Oneshot. 6 months after CoE, Jack offers Johnson a job. Insight into Johnson's past and Jack's generosity. Part of the ongoing AUverse.


**A/N:**

I decided to just post it as an independent story. It's a one-shot, a short blurb that came into my head earlier today while I was working on the other couple of pieces that I've got going…

Happy New Year!

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Choices

**March 23, 2010**

"_All we see of someone at any moment is a snapshot of their life, there in riches or poverty, in joy or despair.  
Snapshots don't show the million decisions that led to that moment."_  
Richard Bach

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_Colonel Aiden Leopold Johnson, 1942-1981_

_Claudia Marie Miller Johnson 1945-1981_

_Miranda Anne Johnson, 1965-1981_

"Camille Adelaide Johnson, nineteen sixty eight to the present," whispered the lone woman into the rain. Little had changed about her exterior over the last six months; her hair was a little longer, she supposed. She was wearing a dark coat with a warm purple scarf that she'd had for far too long but refused to give up. Faded, comfortable jeans and good leather boots. A green sweater. She was almost starting to get used to the feel of being a civilian again. Almost.

It was absurdly stereotypical, graveyards and rain, she thought as she stood there, although she was rather grateful it was just a bit of a sprinkle and not a full on downpour. She remembered clearly the very first time she had stood on this spot—it hadn't been rainy at all…

Suddenly she discovered an umbrella over top of her head, shielding her from further raindrops. "I heard you coming up the path, by the way," she said without turning. "You sound like a bloody elephant when you walk."

Jack chuckled softly. "I was afraid if I snuck up on you, you might shoot me."

"No worries," she answered him, a ghost of a rueful smile playing at her lips. "I'm not armed." She hadn't carried a gun in six months… she turned her attention back to the grave markers. They were fine granite, the very best the military could provide. "He'd just accepted a posting with UNIT—but you probably knew that."

"Yeah. Happy birthday."

She was almost startled—almost. But by now, she had to presume that Captain Harkness knew as much about her as she knew about him…_no, he knows more,_ she corrected herself_. _Because she was well aware that for all that she did know of the man who couldn't die, she'd barely scratched the surface. "I hope you didn't drive all the way out here on a day like this just to wish me a happy birthday, Captain," she said over her shoulder. His expression was difficult to read, not because he was trying to obfuscate anything, but it was just… she didn't know what to make of him. After everything she'd done to him, to his people…to his daughter and grandson. He should have shot her. Or worse, he should have done to her what he'd done to Dekker. But instead…

"_**Torchwood**__. Jack Harkness, Ianto Jones-Harkness, Sara Sidle, Timothy McGee, Mickey Smith, Wendy Shutten, Lois Habiba and Camille Johnson. Trust me, the Prime Minister __**will **__see us."_

The memory of following into Number Ten, the way he'd spoken to the guards—his tone—what he'd said to the now former PM.

"_In two thousand years… in one thousand… in five hundred years, __no one__ will remember your any of your names. You are blips in time. Your secrets aren't important to me. I'll out live them, out live all of you, because __I can't die__. I have seen the future of this planet, of the Human Empire. So believe me when I say that in a hundred years' time the only people who will care that you existed at all will be your descendants and even they'll forget your names eventually. By my time, the only people who care about the British Empire at all will be historians and archaeologists. I want you to remember that the next time I offer you my help. I want you to remember that __all __I care about is the survival of this planet, the human race, because I've seen the future. You need us."_

_._

Us. She wasn't a part of any us, even if for a few moments… his hand on her shoulder caused her to turn more fully.

"It's been six months, Camille."

"A little over by my reckoning, Captain."

"So what do you say, do you want a job?"

"I—I'm sure…" she faltered. It was hard to say no to something she did want, but she knew the rest of them would never have her.

"Don't tell me you've gotten a better offer."

She smiled; they both knew he knew better. "I'll be lucky to get a job as a checkout girl at the supermarket."

His laugh surprised her, "They'd never have to worry about shoplifters with you on the job."

His laugh was contagious, turning her rueful smile into something warmer. "No, I suppose not," she agreed. However, "We both know why I can't accept a job with Torchwood," she told him. "I'd love to but…but I can't."

"Funny, you don't strike me as the sort of woman who would let a few obstacles get in your way."

"I don't know what kind of a woman I am any more," she confessed. "I… I used to think I had it all figured out," she followed him over to a near by bench, although it was entirely subconscious. She wasn't aware she was following his lead, she just did it. "I thought—I mean, I had security clearance, Captain. I knew all about the Daleks, the Cybermen. Torchwood. Yvonne Hart. You. That fellow in Glasgow. Then I found out I'd been lied to and now I don't know what I know."

"Sucks, doesn't it?"

She laughed again. "That's one way to put it."

"I won't ever lie to you Camille, you can count on that," he told her in a tone too sincere to ignore. "I won't ever ask more of you than I would be willing to do myself."

"I know."

"So—?" he gave over a speculative look. "What do you say to a posting in London? Martha's not trilled about it, but she's willing to give you a shot."

"Not literally, I hope."

He chucked, "No, not literally. It won't be easy, but it will be worth it, I can promise you that."

She looked at him a long moment, then turned her gaze back out over the gravestones. "All I ever wanted to do was to make him proud of me—to honour his memory. To serve my country. I failed."

"Like you said, you were lied to. What matters is that you made it right in the end."

"Is that really all that matters, Captain?" how could it possibly be that simple?

"As far as I'm concerned, yeah, that's all that matters."

"And Jack Harkness' word is law?"

He laughed, "I'm not sure I'd put it that way—but I'm pretty good at bringing people around to my way of thinking."

"I'll bet you are."

He flashed her a sly grin.

"What you said that day, about having seen the future of the human race, did you really mean all of that?" she asked him then.

"This is the century everything changes for the human race. It's already started. The Daleks, the Cybermen—the 456. This is just the beginning—"

"God. Don't tell me there are more aliens out there—"

"Most of them are just ordinary people, just like you and me, muddling through their lives as best as they can."

"You hardly strike me as ordinary."

He grinned so hard his dimples showed. "Flattery will get you everywhere, you know."

"How can you even look at me after everything that happened?" she wanted to know.

He shrugged. "People make mistakes."

She gave him a disbelieving look. She would hardly call what she'd done 'a mistake'. She should be on trial, too, she wasn't just a soldier following orders, she had been the one to issue orders… but no one had even come looking for her. She knew she had Jack Harkness to thank for that.

"I've made mistakes too," Harkness told her. "And yeah, people got hurt because of me. A lot of people. Innocent people. Then I met somebody and he showed me the kind of person I could be, if I just gave myself a chance. I owe it to him to him to give you that same chance."


End file.
